


collateral damage

by sourdoughgay



Category: The Wolf Among Us
Genre: Character Study, Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourdoughgay/pseuds/sourdoughgay
Summary: Holly takes Grendel home after the bar fight.





	collateral damage

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't have much in the way of actual plot; it's just a quick study of Holly and Gren and their relationship. Not beta-read.

The room is silent, save for the whirr of the ceiling fan and Grendel’s ragged, pathetic sobbing. Blood seeps from his wounds, thick and dark, and Holly feels a sharp, stabbing pang of worry in her chest.  
Bigby stalks up to the bar, eyes ablaze with adrenaline and canine fury.  
“Whisky,” he orders, his voice gruff and unwavering. Holly obeys.  
He knocks the glass out of her hands, sending shards of glass across the floor. Holly hates herself for being scared.  
“Double.”  
She does as she’s told, and Bigby downs the glass. The fire in his eyes is gone. He slaps a bill onto the counter, gives Holly a final warning glare, and turns to leave.  
“Aight, I’ve got a hundred bucks for the first bloke who can tell me about a girl named-”  
Dee stops dead in his tracks, and the tension that’s begun to clear from the air is revived, waiting for someone to make the first move.  
Of course, it’s Bigby.  
He lunges for Dee and tackles him to the ground. Woody scrambles towards the back room, and Holly prays that this will go smoothly. As smoothly as it can go.  
Bigby doesn’t try to stop Woody, his only reaction to his retreat a glance over his shoulder and a muttered curse. He handcuffs Dee, who swears up and down that he’s not guilty, that Bigby will regret this.  
As soon as they’ve left, Holly approaches Gren – cautiously, the way one would approach a wounded animal. His glamour has strengthened, despite his injured state, and he looks even more pitiful. More human.  
“Gren.”  
He groans and turns to look up at her.  
“That really fuckin’ hurt,” he slurs. “The fuckin’ bastard.”  
She shakes her head, but she can’t help but feel relieved. He’d be okay, she doesn’t know why she was so scared for him. Fables were tough – Gren especially. He’d survive.  
“I’ll walk you home.”  
He makes a move to protest, but decides against it. She locks the door to the bar and he slings his remaining arm around her shoulders. He isn’t steady on his feet, the booze and the blood loss making him stumble every couple of steps. It’s a good twenty minutes before they reach his dingy apartment, and he fishes a key out of his pocket and makes a couple attempts to unlock his door before handing the key to Holly, defeated.  
She unlocks the door and ushers him inside, dumping him on the couch and heading to the kitchen to get him a glass of water.  
“Drink.”  
He wrinkles his nose as she hands him the glass.  
“If it ain’t booze, I don’t want it.”  
Holly puts her hands on her hips, fixing Grendel with the kind of look a mother would give a misbehaving child.  
“Christ, Gren, your arm’s off and you want to be difficult.”  
Grudgingly, he accepts the glass of water. Holly sits down next to him and pulls his jacket aside.  
“Lemme see your arm,” she mutters when he flinches and tries to pull away from her touch.  
“Quit motherin’ me, Holly. I can take care of myself.”  
“Given the state of this room, I doubt it.”  
Grendel sighs and lets her inspect his wound. It’s begun to heal on its own, but it isn’t a pretty sight. Holly grimaces and goes to fetch a damp rag, washing away the drying blood and bits of skin clinging to his shoulder.  
“Fuck, Holly, that _hurts,_ ” Grendel complains, and she gives him another pointed look.  
“Put on your big-boy pants and get over it, hon.”  
He huffs and lets her clean him up. He lights a cigarette and doesn’t wince as she presses isopropanol-soaked gauze to the wound, nor when she bandages what’s left of his arm.  
“Do you want me to call Dr. Swineheart?” Holly asks, but she knows the answer.  
“ _Fuck_ no.”  
She nods. He takes a couple drags from his cigarette, eyes glazing over, brow furrowing. She knows he’s thinking about what happened, and she can’t deny that she’s angry, too.  
“That _bastard,_ ” he begins, and she lets him yell, lets him throw his glass against the wall and makes a mental note to sweep it up after she inevitably puts him to bed. “-made him the damn _sheriff_ after all the shit he did while I gotta work my fuckin’ ass off just to fuckin’ get by!”  
He tires himself out eventually, falling back onto the overstuffed couch and leaning his head back against the cushions, eyes closed.  
Holly watches him sleep for what might be one minute or ten. Then she sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose, and goes to find a broom.


End file.
